


The Most Powerful Muggle

by lamerezouille



Series: 25 days of Draco and Harry, 2011 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamerezouille/pseuds/lamerezouille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: <a href="http://i1209.photobucket.com/albums/cc385/sassy_cissa/3-1.jpg">This very </a><i>white</i> house<br/>Warning: This is some sort of cross-over with a political RPF.<br/>Yes, I totally went <i>there</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Most Powerful Muggle

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [This very ](http://i1209.photobucket.com/albums/cc385/sassy_cissa/3-1.jpg)_white_ house  
>  Warning: This is some sort of cross-over with a political RPF.  
> Yes, I totally went _there_.

Barack Obama is a _very_ busy man. He’s the President of the United States of America, after all. He’s the leader of the most powerful country in the world, and that’s enough as it is to fill his schedule to the brim. In addition to this, though, he has to face a global economic crisis, run a re-election campaign, and maybe somehow find a little time to spend with his family for Christmas.

Well, thinking about it, Barack Obama wouldn’t say he is a very busy man. He is a _colossally_ busy man.

Considering this, it’s only natural that he never spends any time opening envelopes and reading mail. He has assistants who have assistants who have assistants whose job it is to take care of that. So when he finds, one day, a thick and cream-coloured envelope on his desk, he doesn’t even consider opening it. He puts it on his secretary’s in-tray, gets up to close his window and doesn’t spend even one more second of his time to think about this letter ever again.

A few days later, he is once again in his office at two in the morning, finishing some Very Important paperwork concerning trade alliances with Peru, when he hears a great noise coming from the office fireplace. He doesn’t see anything untoward at first glance, but then notices something very peculiar indeed. A fire is burning. How come a fire is burning? The office chimney is _never_ actually used and he doesn’t remember anyone ever putting logs in it.

Barack Obama closes his eyes, rubs them with his palms maybe a little harder than necessary and look at the fireplace again. The fire is still here and there is _no way_ he’s become such a boring person that he’d dream of signing papers in his office in the middle of the night. Plus, if he was dreaming, he wouldn’t feel quite so tired.

Perhaps he’s having exhaustion-induced hallucinations, or maybe it’s food-poisoning. When the fire suddenly changes colours, he decides he might simply be going utterly nuts, but he doesn’t have time to reflect on a hypothetical brain tumour before something else happens, something way more concerning.

Someone is coming out of the chimney.

It is a man dressed in red, and before Barack Obama has time to think about it, he says, not very brightly, ‘Are you Santa Claus?’

The man snorts, raises an eyebrow and asks, ‘Do I look like Santa to you?’

 _No_ , Barack Obama thinks, _he certainly does not_. The man is young, thin, completely smooth-jawed and very, very, blond. Also, he seems to be wearing some kind of dress. ‘Who are you, then? And what are you doing here?’ Barack Obama says, thinking belatedly that he should maybe call security instead.

‘I’m Draco Malfoy, of course. I told you in my letter I would come today to see you,’ the man – Draco Malfoy? – says, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with appearing in heads-of-states’ offices in the middle of the night.

The memory of the letter comes back to Barack Obama suddenly and he doesn’t really know how to respond to his visitor’s presumptuousness. He doesn’t seem to need to, however, as Draco Malfoy takes a seat on the other side of his desk and starts talking.

‘No matter you didn’t receive my missive. I’m here and you’re here and that’s what’s important.’ Draco Malfoy seems to think everything is all right with their encounter, and it confuses Barack Obama so much that he doesn’t even try to take control of the conversation. After all, if he’s become completely crazy, he might as well enjoy the little entertainment this man is willingly providing.

‘You see, I recently heard Harry – that’s my boyfriend –, talking with his friend Granger – well, I guess I’m supposed to say Weasley now, but really, who cares? – about marriage, and how Harry refused to get married until same-sex marriage was allowed for all Muggles around the world. The problem is: I was planning to make a Christmas proposal and this new whim of his is sort of ruining my plan.’ Draco Malfoy pauses, seemingly expecting some reaction from him, but Barack Obama can only stare at the man with an increasingly confused expression. ‘So, as you seem to be the most powerful Muggle in the world, I thought if maybe _you_ allowed same-sex marriage in your country, it might be enough for Harry to say yes.’

There are a few seconds of silence before Barack Obama realises that Draco Malfoy’s speech is over. There are many interrogations in his mind, but only one seems to be able to be formulated correctly enough: ‘What is a Muggle?’

Draco Malfoy seems startled by this question, but doesn’t lose his composure. ‘ _You_ are a Muggle, obviously, because you don’t have magic. Do you have an other word for it, in America?’

Barack Obama is completely dumbfounded and only manages to say, with a much smaller voice than the US President should ever have, ‘Hm…magic?’

Draco Malfoy seems to think it is all a very good joke, because he snorts and says, in a very casual manner, ‘Oh, come on! Don’t make me believe you never heard of it before. Our Muggle Prime Minister certainly knew all about it.’

Barack Obama’s face only becomes more worried and Draco Malfoy’s wide grin slowly fades away, as he appears to realise that Barack Obama has really _no idea_ about anything about _magic_. Barack Obama feels a little less out of his depth when Draco Malfoy blanches completely and mutters, ‘So, are you telling me I’m breaching the International Statute of Secrecy?’

Barack Obama is not so sure of himself that he can answer “yes” or “no” to this question, so he just says, in the most confident voice he can manage, ‘Be sure that I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.’

Draco Malfoy gets up suddenly and exclaims, sounding quite alarmed, ‘Oh my! Harry is going to _kill_ me!’ He then leans towards Barack Obama and says very lowly, ‘You won’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, will you?’

Barack Obama just nods, because if he pictures himself telling this story to anyone, he’s sure to have a fit.

‘All right,’ Draco Malfoy says in a clear voice, straightening up, ‘I’ll be on my way, then. Sorry for the bother, I wish you a very wonderful day.’

And Draco Malfoy disappears.

Barack Obama looks at the empty spot where the man stood one second before and decides to go to bed.

The following weeks, he tries to convince himself he just imagined the whole thing, and he mostly manages, until, a few days after Christmas, the same kind of envelope appears on his desk. This time he opens it right away and reads it very warily.

_“Dear Barack Obama,_

I thought you might want to know: I finally proposed to Harry and I told him everything about meeting you (I can’t hide anything to the sneaky bastard). He said he was very proud of me for doing something for a cause, so he said YES!  
But he said I wasn’t allowed to invite you to the wedding.

Sorry,

Draco Malfoy.”


End file.
